Story Break
Modern Stoves
Things were different when I first started backpacking. Outdoor shops sold only the basics: boots, packs, tents, stoves. In a big store you had a choice of several stoves and some aluminum pots. Maybe they sold a frying pan or two, and an enameled steel coffee pot for those who really thought they needed one.
You could pick a white-gas stove, a kerosene stove, or maybe take a chance on one of those new canister stoves, if you were really adventurous. You had choices but not enough to hurt your head. Enough was really enough. Things just worked. You could understand them.
Such as fire. Start with wood and a match. Put the two together and you had fire, or not. It either worked or it didn’t, and it was up to you. The human race evolved with fire over thousands of years. We knew about it and it knew about us. The early one-unit backpacking stoves weren’t much different. You put in fuel, primed the stove and lit it. You put it out when you were done, and moved on.
Years later things are different. Now we live in the age of marketeers and trend setters. We want to see somebody famous using a thing on television before we decide that it might be the one and only indispensable real deal. We want what they want. Or what they get paid to tell us they want.
And new materials and clever engineering have improved life on the trail, they really have. But a lot of change is just glitter, just glitter on a pig. Fascinating the first time you see it. But then you start handling it, and you get the glitter in your eyes and up your nose, and then all over the floor. And eventually you have to admit that all you really have is a dirty pig.
Try deciding on a stove today. Hmmm. Maybe the designer colors first catch your eye, or the rhinestones, or the built-in wireless internet access, or the testimonial by Paris Hilton hanging on a little tag, but you still have to deal with a stove on the trail. All by yourself, out among the trees and the rocks, in the dark. Take a look at the owner’s manual and see if you’re qualified to handle it.
I still don’t know when cleaning kits and stove tools first appeared. I wasn’t watching. I was just out hiking. My stuff worked and, silly me, that was good enough. Maintenance kits? Tune-ups? Owner’s manuals? Puleeese!
To buy an up-to-the-minute stove today I’d have to sign up for classes and get certified, then take the exam to qualify for a learner’s permit. With luck I might be able to solo a few weeks after the classroom study and supervised lab sessions ended, like, oh, sometime in September, and wait until next season to actually use my stove.
Look at what’s happened in the rest of the outdoor world. There’s a pattern. Boots (and maybe mountaineering boots for the adventurous) have morphed into leather boots, synthetic-fabric boots, composite-materials boots, waterproof-breathable boots, hiking shoes, camp shoes, trail running shoes, wading shoes, boating shoes, and hiking sandals. No sleeping shoes yet, but wait another year or two and you’ll see them too.
Instead of just well-crafted down bags we now have down bags AND several kinds of synthetic bags, hybrid bags, half bags, quilts, bag liners, overbags, rain-repellent bags, fleece bags, and down-filled blankets.
External-frame packs, internal-frame packs, removable-frame packs, frameless packs, fanny packs, water-bottle carriers, iPod packs, hydration packs, adventure-racer packs, day packs, overnight packs, weekenders, intermediate-trip packs, long-trip packs, expedition packs, strap-on pockets and pack extenders.
First double-walled tents (the tried and true standard). And now free-standing tents, dome tents, half-dome tents, family tents, solo tents, tents with carbon fiber poles, tents with fiberglass poles, bug tents, mountaineering tents, three-season tents, four-season tents, tarptents, singe-wall tents, catenary-cut tarps, backpacking hammocks, and bivy sacks electron-beamed together from deep space out of new age materials.
What the heck happened? I used to be pretty smart, sort of. This used to make sense. It seemed to. Now I’m not sure. I don’t own any titanium pots, or even a titanium spork. I don’t have a graduate degree in stove maintenance. I don’t even have a stove that sounds like a jet plane. I don’t eat food manufactured by people in biohazard suits. I’ve never used a trailside espresso maker or prepared homemade ice cream in a meadow by kicking a Lexan ball around.
I just have some simple things that I can understand, that work, and I still manage to take care of myself, and even have fun.
What’s wrong with me?